A Box of Chocolates

Life is like a box of chocolates. It is, but I have come to realize that Mr. Gump may have been really talking about Jaguars. You never know what you are going to get.

Several months ago I received an e-mail from a lady named Annabelle that owned a 1970 E-Type roadster. The roadster had been given to her as a High School graduation present from her father, but since marriage, three kids, numerous relocations and the fact that she, of slight stature, had to sit on a large phonebook to see over the bonnet, the car had spent the last twenty years virtually untouched. Annabelle was now interested in selling and wanted to know if I knew what it was worth and of anyone that sold classic Jags in the Chesapeake area.

Understanding that people that own old classic cars and don.t know old classic cars have a tendency to see with rose colored glasses and rationalize the worth in happy thoughts about early retirement, paid college tuitions, and a leisurely life in a warm climate with lots of beach sand, I was kind in my response. I used the standard vague answers of ..depends on the condition of the car., ..cars that have been stored, but not prepared for storage can quickly become a pile of iron oxide., ....but, an E-Type is much desired and a truly classic art form..

The car was located in Chesapeake, so I suggested that Annabelle contact the folks at Abacus for a professional opinion. Likewise, I copied our local Jag Man in the tidewater area, Don Jackson. As it turned out Annabelle lived just a few blocks from Don home and he contacted her to check out the car and share his knowledge.

After the .Don Appraisal. I got an email suggesting that if I was ever interested in an E-Type I should make the trip to Chesapeake. After about three nano-second of quilt about too many projects and no fathomable reason for even looking at another Jag, I was off to tidewater.

Upon arrival and a quick look around the car it was in fact in better condition than I would have expected. Paper work showed that the last time the car had been licensed was 1991 and the last safety inspection had been 1989. The car was Sable in color. The body had the expected dinks and scratches, but with almost no rust. All the chrome was there and in useable condition. The interior had seen better days and there had been some water/mice damage to the passenger side (rusty floor bucket/side panels). On the positive side the dash/instruments looked almost new and the seats looked like they would clean up nicely. The top was intact, but just barely.

With the bonnet up the engine bay was dirty and spiders had woven their best.just what I would expect from a car sitting for twenty years. The only significant rust was the battery box area and it was significant. It appeared that the battery had been left in the car and leaked. This would become an issue later, but for now my heart was beginning to palpitate and my breathing was getting short and rapid.

My eyes were glued to the car, but my ears where open to the conversation. I could hear from the opening discussion that the car had an emotional hold on Annabelle. Apart from being a graduation gift, she and her husband had spent a honeymoon driving the east coast. And, as I had feared there was an expectation that selling the car would pay for at least one of kid.s college education.

My granddaughter says that I have the tendencies of a curmudgeon. She may be right. I have at times had the reputation of pooping on peoples parades. Nevertheless, I did my best to be factual, scholarly, and honest about the realities of selling a car that has been neglected for twenty years, cannot be started or test driven, and can only be touched if dirt, grime, and dust are not an issue.

I made a .Take it now. offer that met with the expected, .We.ll have to think about it., response. To leave Annabelle with a final thought to ponder, I said that I could come up in my offer a little, but not much ..let me know what you think?.

The days went to weeks and then months, with no word. I moved on with my 1986 Cabriolet project. As winter became spring, I received a message from Annabelle letting me know the car was for sale and it was mine for my .now. price plus a little more. After a talk with my accountant and Jaguar advisor, Marian, I made the call and I started rearranging my garage for a new E-Type inhabitant.

The following weekend, Don helped me load the car on the trailer for the trip home. It was there that I took my first bite of chocolate. It was bitter sweet! It appeared that the acid from the battery had eaten though the right side sub-frame under the battery box. It didn.t stop there. This lack of lateral support had broken the main rail for the engine mount. All and all it was not a life ending experience, but certainly a major annoyance.

Life IS a box of chocolates.

To Be Continued.